Reach
by PuppetOnALonelyString
Summary: I did it because I thought it would make them proud. That's all I ever wanted. I didn't think of the consequences. I didn't realize that everything I did over there would affect my family here. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I don't know how to make things right.


**A/N: Just a quick note before we begin: I don't know much about it, but I have done my research on the Vietnam War so I will try to keep this as accurate as possible; however I have altered the timeline of history a little bit and made everything happen a few years earlier. This story takes place before **_**The Outsiders.**_** I do not own **_**The Outsiders**_**, S.E. Hinton does. I only own the OCs that will appear in this particular story. **

**Anyways, without further ado, I give you **_**Reach.**_

**Chapter One**

"Before"

My parents always talked about how brave those boys were—the ones who left to protect our country—whenever they watched the news on the ratty old television in our living room. My dad especially appreciated their gallantry and courage.

"We owe those boys our lives," he would say. "We owe them everything."

My mom, although she was extremely grateful for what the soldiers sacrificed for our country, always got a sad glint in her eyes whenever my dad mentioned them. I never really understood why, but I think that she knew someone who was killed in action.

I wasn't the smartest kid on the block, not by far. In fact, I think my dad would have had a heart attack if I came home with anything higher than a C. I knew it hurt my parents to see that I couldn't care less in anything school related, but I couldn't help it. Things like Math and English just didn't click in my head. The only thing that I was good at was Music and being a nuisance, according to my older brother. I knew that I wasn't good at anything important and I figured that there was no way I would be able to become good at anything important enough to help me graduate. But, I was sick and tired of my parents being so disappointed in me, so I decided to stop feeling bad for myself and do something about it.

My decision to join the army wasn't a tough one. All I had to think about was how proud my parents were of the soldiers they'd never even heard of and the fact that I was disappointing them by not trying harder in school. I figured that if I were one of those soldiers, then they would be proud of me too; they wouldn't look so sad every time I failed a test and they would stop having late-night conversations of what they were going to do with me if I didn't graduate high school. The fact that I was only 16 years old didn't matter to me; I thought I would be okay. I mean, heck, I've lived in a battlefield all my life. Tulsa, Oklahoma wasn't exactly the nicest place to live with people constantly getting jumped and its high crime rate. I thought I was capable enough and so I spent a couple months getting a fake ID from a buddy of mine, who sold them to the younger Greasers trying to get a taste of alcohol for the first time and raising up enough money for a bus ride to the Army Base in Little Rock, Arkansas. I'm not sure why I decided to go that far away. I guess I thought that if I enlisted at the one in Tulsa, then my parents or one of my brothers would try to stop me. I didn't know if my parents would approve of my decision, but I didn't want to risk having to fight them for it. This was something that I needed to do on my own. I needed to show them that I was able to do this.

I became an official member of the 4th Infantry Division on September 17th, 1960.

Three years later and there are two things that I am absolutely sure of. One: war is nothing like how they say it is on the television. I've seen so many things, things that have been ingrained in my mind and tattooed on the insides of my eyelids; things that no one should ever witness. I've seen people get their heads blown off and I've seen people blow other people's heads off. I've stared down the barrel of a gun and I've stared into the eyes of those at the end of my own gun. People killed and were killed, and for the sake of what? Second: war turns people into vicious animals, only concerned with survival, feeling nothing but constant fear. Fear that they would end up just another name on the ever-growing list of the deceased. Fear makes people do terrible, terrible things.

But, all that is behind me. I'm going home now. I'm going back to Tulsa, back to my parents, my brothers, my friends. It's been three long years, but it's over now, it's all over. I won't have to be scared anymore.

I should have realized how wrong I was.


End file.
